


give you heaven's dew and earth's richness.

by redhoods



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: ...that's it, Come Eating, Intercrural Sex, M/M, just morning thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Even on Sunday mornings, the good Reverend is slow to drag himself awake, even slower to reach the point of speaking, not until he’s got some coffee in him. It’s just kind of him to start to process early, when Matty’s gotta be down in the pulpit in a little over an hour.And, well, if he’s late it’s not like anyone in Deadwood actually gives a shit about punctuality.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 7
Kudos: 88





	give you heaven's dew and earth's richness.

**Author's Note:**

> this is just... some good ol' filth. enjoy.
> 
> title is from.. the bible. genesis to be specific. ~~sorry not sorry to every sunday school teacher i ever had. fuck y'all.~~

The sky is still a deep blue when he wakes, though he’s not sure what’s woken him so early. Sunday mornings in Deadwood are always uncharacteristically quiet and aside from the heat that Matthew is radiating, Clayton’s comfortable.

He’s warm and Matthew is still quietly snoring, the broad expanse of his back rhythmically rising and falling. Sure, it’s a good sight to wake to and his dick is already half hard, but fuck if he couldn’t still be enjoying a nice lie in. But he’s awake and he’s never been the sort able to fall back to sleep so he curls against Matthew’s back, kisses the space between his shoulders.

Even on Sunday mornings, the good Reverend is slow to drag himself awake, even slower to reach the point of speaking, not until he’s got some coffee in him. It’s just kind of him to start to process early, when Matty’s gotta be down in the pulpit in a little over an hour.

And, well, if he’s late it’s not like anyone in Deadwood actually gives a shit about punctuality.

He tucks himself close against Matthew’s back, all that warm skin still bare after the previous night and slides his arm over his middle. It’s not fair really, Matthew’s broad and thick all the way around, built like a solid fucking wall, and he hides it away.

Under all those collars and vestments and robes.

Maybe it is fair, he thinks, pressing another kiss to a scar on Matthew’s shoulder, that he’s the only one that gets to see this. Matthew in all his god given glory, Matthew hard and wanting, flushed red down his chest.

Matthew murmuring prayers meant for no ears but his.

He rocks his hips against Matthew’s backside, scrapes his teeth gently over the scar he’s just kissed.

There’s only a little stirring in front of him, some snuffling from Matthew that means he’s trying and failing to wake up, so Clayton bite a little harder at the spot, mumbles there, “Rise and shine, Matty.” He slides his hand down Matthew’s belly, finds his cock already hard and leaking, only cups his palm over it.

Matthew actually groans at that, rocking into the friction, though his voice is sleep thick, slurring at the edges, “Clay? Time’s’it?”

He grinds against Matthew again, hums against his skin, “Early, we got plenty of time,” he answers, presses his thumb over the head of Matthew’s cock to hear the punched out sound he makes.

“The mess—” Matthew starts.

“I’ll clean you up,” he offers.

For a beat, he thinks Matthew’s gonna beg off in favor of church preparations, but then one of Matthew’s hands is reaching back and he’s not prepared for the hand around his dick, the few quick and rough jacks of Matthew’s hand.

He groans against Matthew’s back, ruts into his hand, “Fuck, Matty.”

“If we had time,” Matthew replies, voice sleep rough, then he’s pulling him forward, guiding his cock between his thighs and Clayton rocks his hips as soon as Matthew’s hand is gone, blows out a shaky breath when Matthew’s thighs clench around him.

Matthew’s hand cups around his thigh instead, fingers digging into the flesh.

It’s as much permission as it is urging and Clayton doesn’t need to be told twice, not about this, not with Matthew’s thighs tight around his dick. Not with the quiet punched out groan Matthew makes when he rocks his hips.

The leverage isn’t perfect, but he hitches his leg over one of Matthew’s, finds a rhythm that fills the room with the steady sound of skin slapping and Matthew’s quiet groans that pitch up whenever Clayton finds the angle to brush against his balls, the underside of his cock. Matthew’s sounds aren’t the only ones, Clayton doesn’t bother being quiet about how good he feels, how good the tight clutch of Matthew’s thighs feel.

The hand holding his thigh squeezes tight with the promises of bruises and Clayton presses his groan into Matthew’s skin. “Yeah, that what you need, sweetheart?” Matthew’s voice is still sleep rough, “a reminder of who you belong to?”

“Love wearing your marks,” he muffles against Matthew’s back, thinks about the fingerprint bruises on his thigh, his hips, the dark smudge on his throat, the ring of teeth on the back of his shoulder.

“They look good on you,” Matthew replies and holds tight to his thigh suddenly, stalling his thrusts with him pressed tight against Matthew’s back.

Clayton groans, “Matty.”

Matthew only shushes him and then Matthew’s other hand is rubbing over the head of his cock, thumb circling, spreading precum everywhere, “Really are making a mess of me, aren’t you?” His thighs flex tight and Clayton keens, “Bet you could come just like this, couldn’t you?”

This side of Matthew still blindsides him sometimes, catches him off guard, but never in a bad way. He trusts Matthew, they’ve had these talks, laid out their lines, but the thrill of it still curls through him, stokes the fire.

“Can you?” Matthew asks, thumb rubbing almost mean circles around the head of his dick in a way that has Clayton’s toes curling.

He shakes out a groan, tries to rut his hips, “Probably.”

There’s a moment where Matthew only touches his cock without saying a word, fingers pressing his length against the underside of Matthew’s cock, “Good,” he replies suddenly, “you’re going to do that, then you’re going to clean me up.”

“And then?” Clayton asks, because he can hear it, even though Matthew’s doing his damnedest to wipe his brain of coherent thought.

“And then I’m going to go down to church,” he says, casual still, “and when I come back, I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress.”

It dawns on him then, what Matthew’s saying and his cock twitches and Matthew hums, loosening the grip of his thigh. The idea of Matthew going down to preach still hard under his vestments is enough to have Clayton immediately snapping his hips as soon as he can.

He only gets a few more thrusts in before Matthew’s thighs clench around him and he’s done, gone for, spilling between Matthew’s thighs, dick sliding through the mess with a few more half hearted thrusts as he comes down slowly.

“Fuck,” he pants out, pressing a series of kisses to Matthew’s back, before tipping away onto his back, “hang on, let me,” he flaps a hand uselessly in the air, flicking his gaze to Matthew.

“You got time,” Matthew says, tipping onto his back as well, so they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Clayton pushes up onto his elbow, takes in the sight of Matthew’s, flushed red down his chest, eyes dark. His cock is still hard and red, leaking against his belly, and Clayton thinks about swallowing him down but that wasn’t what they talked about.

He shuffles down the bed, fits himself between Matthew’s thighs and drops right onto his belly. As soon as he’s settled, Matthew’s hand is tangled in his hair, drawing him close until Clayton’s close enough to start dragging his tongue over Matthew’s thighs, cleaning away his own spend.

“Good,” Matthew rumbles above him, groans more gentle rumbles of sound from his chest.

The hand in his hair doesn’t give him any leeway, as much as he wants to lick at Matthew’s cock so he settles for sucking at his thighs, dragging his tongue over his balls and back across his hole until Matthew’s twitching, tugging hard at his hair.

He shoots a grin up at Matthew, sucks another mark at the crease of his thigh where he won’t be able to ignore it.

“Fuck,” Matthew exhales and tugs at his hair, pulling him away and up, up, up, until Matthew’s hand moves from his hair to his jaw, drawing him into a kiss, deepy and filthy. Under him, Matthew’s body rolls, hips arching until his hard cock drags along Clayton’s ass, before he breaks the kiss, “How badly I want to stay up here and spread you out,” he rumbles out, then releases Clayton’s jaw, nudging him to the side.

Clayton sprawls against his own pillow, turning up onto his side to watch Matthew swing his legs over the side of the bed, “I wouldn’t say no.”

Matthew grins at him over his shoulder as he stands, stretches, an unfair display that should absolutely be a sin, “Patience is a virtue.”

Huffing, Clayton flips him off, hides his smile in his pillow as Matthew laughs, loud and fond.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter.


End file.
